"Hope" is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul 

And sings the tune without the words 
And never stops — at all 

And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard 
And sore must be the storm 
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm 

I've heard it in the chillest land 
And on the strangest Sea 
,Yet, never, in Extremity
.It asked a crumb — of Me

" by Emily Dickinson"

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